


Home When We're Together

by awaytobeunshaken



Series: A Million Reasons to Love You [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Depression, Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awaytobeunshaken/pseuds/awaytobeunshaken
Summary: A heart is a difficult thing to mend. A life even moreso.Star Trek: Discovery season 2 through the eyes of Hugh Culber.





	1. Chapter 1

_ “Wait. It’s the clearing in the forest. _

_ Thanks, Hugh.” _

It’s the last contact Hugh has with the  _ Discovery,  _ with Paul, with the universe outside the mycelial network, for a long time. Just how long, he can’t say. Time doesn’t work right, here. Nothing does. He doesn’t need to eat or drink, which he can’t quite explain, but then, he can’t exactly explain how he’s seemingly alive in the first place. He knows he must be, though. His hair and fingernails grow. He sweats and bleeds and feels pain. Somehow the network is keeping him alive, even as it tries to kill him.

It’s not long before familiar places stop manifesting for him. Soon it’s just raw mycelium as far as he can see. He knows that Paul and the  _ Discovery’s  _ crew were successful in healing the network; the diseased patches are growing smaller. Unfortunately, those patches are his only refuge once the network starts to attack him.

He’s out in the open when it first starts, and the only thing he can think of is to run, as the spores eat through his clothes, then start on his skin, threatening to eat him alive. He doesn’t even know where he should go at first; he’s operating in pure fight or flight mode. He only stops when his body refuses to carry him further, which happens to be in the midst of a patch of red and black trees. Whatever it is, the spores avoid it; he sees them keeping their distance around the edges.

After that, he keeps to these patches, coating his body in flaky strands of bark from the black trees whenever he has to move beyond them.. They’re probably toxic, he realizes, remembering the infection he showed Paul when they met in the network. Still, if it kills him, it’s at least a slower death than being consumed by the green spores. He’s not sure why it matters; No one is coming for him, there’s no other way out, the only reason for him to want to survive is pure instinct. But that instinct sustains him through the uncountable days. 

He doesn’t seem to need sleep here, any more than he requires sustenance, but sometimes his body lets him have it anyway, letting his mind disconnect from the eternity facing him. He dreams, usually simple memories of his life before, but once a vivid imagining of the  _ Discovery  _ entering the network, finding him, Paul standing in an airlock and reaching out his hand. It’s such a beautiful thing to imagine, until he wakes up, and he’s still alone. Perhaps it was best not to dream. 

A mind still needs something to do, though. and with little here to challenge him beyond base survival, Hugh’s mind conjures other things for him. It’s different than what he experienced when he first arrived here. He has scenarios to play out, people to interact with: his family, old shipmates, Paul. He knows none of it’s real. It’s like a film that he’s a part of, until the music swells and the credits roll. Still, even knowing that, the moments with Paul are the hardest to leave behind.

And one day something changes. A flash in his presence. Something entering the network, for less than a second, and then gone.  _ Discovery.  _ If it was coming here, maybe he could follow it. Maybe there was some way to send a signal, or put himself aboard... How? He can’t exactly run down a starship. He doesn’t have the ability to move along the network like Paul does, like the tardigrade did. At least, he shouldn’t be able to. But he’s not sure he’s entirely human anymore, and if he’s somehow part of the network, he might be able to navigate it.

He had to understand some of the science to design Paul’s implants, of course, but that felt like years ago. It might have been years ago for all he knew. Besides, knowing the relevant neurotransmitters wouldn’t exactly give him insight into  _ what  _ Paul was doing when he jumped. He’d just have to wing it. He laughs bitterly at the thought.  _ Sure, Hugh, just close your eyes and make a wish and you’re home. Maybe click your heels three times. If only you’d thought of that to start with.  _ Still, it’s not like he has any other options.

He armors himself in the toxic bark, then waits, looking up at the mycelial sky. Eventually, he feels the shifts in the environment that indicate something else has entered the network. It’s time; he wills his body to follow those shifts... and he’s somewhere else. Whether it’s near where  _ Discovery _ was headed (if it was  _ Discovery  _ at all), he has no way of knowing. He’s in a ‘clean’ part of the network. He’ll need to find another patch of the black trees before his armor wears off. He picks a direction and starts walking.

It’s a while before  _ Discovery  _ enters the network again, but he’s sure it’s not as long as he had to wait the first time.  He attempts to follow it as he did before, but even if he’s traveling in the right direction, how is he supposed to catch the ship, to ride out with it. In desperation, he cries out, “PAUL!”

He thinks he might have heard a reply. Or maybe he imagined it. Either way, he’s traveled far, much farther than the last time he tried to follow  _ Discovery.  _ Funny, how he can have a sense of distance and direction, but not the passing of time. If they’ve come this far, they’ll surely have to jump again eventually, to go back home. It’s his first chance to be right near the place where the ship enters the network. This could be his chance to go home.

_ Discovery  _ blinks into the network in front of him, and then it’s gone again. They barely moved this time. What was that for? His mind flashes to the series of jumps they made around the Klingon Ship of the Dead, watching Paul in the reaction cube, his condition deteriorating, not sure if he would... “Shut up!” His own voice sounds foreign to him. There’s only been the one micro-jump. It isn’t happening again. Besides, every jump tells him that Paul’s out there, that he might be able to come for him. He’s waiting, eyes still fixed on the last spot he saw  _ Discovery,  _ waiting for the next jump...

He’s missed. Again. Of course he has. He’s chasing down a starship. What does he think he’s going to do? Ride out of the network clinging to the port nacelle? He finds another patch of black trees, refreshes his armor, and starts walking. He doesn’t bother to wonder where to, or in what direction. None of it really matters, after all. Keep moving, because he can. Keep surviving, because it’s what people do. 

He’s not actually thinking about following  _ Discovery,  _ the next time he feels it pop into the network. But he does it anyway. Not that he has far to go, this time. He waits for his head to stop spinning, then opens his eyes. He’s kneeling on the ground near another patch of black, the largest he’s seen in awhile, almost like a forest.  _ I can see him in the trees...  _ “Shut up!” He slams his fist into the ground beside him, and instead of the solid surface he’s expecting, it encounters something soft and squishy. It appears to be some kind of container, oblong, roughly human-sized.  _ Like a coffin. _

He jumps to his feet, turns away from it, and starts to run. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s running toward: the familiar curve of  _ Discovery’s  _ saucer. He picks up speed. It briefly occurs to him that it’s been awhile since he’s applied more bark, but right now he doesn’t care. If  _ Discovery _ is really here in front of him, if it can take him home, it won’t matter. 

The hull is crawling with spores; maybe because that’s what it’s made of, or maybe because they’re attacking even the ship. He’ll soon find out. He reaches a hand out, closing his eyes out of fear that this is just a massive illusion... and his hand collides with solid metal. He scrambles across the hull until he reaches an airlock, and slips inside.

The interior of the ship is dark, aside from the dim blue light of the network. “Hello?” His voice is weak. He swallows and tries again. “HELLO? Anyone?” He moves through the corridors more quickly, looking for any sign of humanoid life, but the ship appears abandoned. “No,” he sobs as he sinks to the floor, hugging his knees, sobbing, screaming. He was so sure that they’d found him. Now he wonders if he shouldn’t just let the network take him. 

Then he looks up, and he’s not even sure what he’s seeing through his tear-clouded eyes until he hears a voice say, “Hugh?”

He’s been careful not to let his daydreams become too real; to lessen the pain when they eventually fade. But he can’t shake this one away. The image of Paul is still standing there, with that mixed expression of pain and shock and barely-repressed hope that Hugh has imagined for so long. This must be it; the moment when the stress and the fear and the loneliness all get to him. He’s finally losing his mind.

He indulges that thought for just another moment, then takes off down the corridor at a run. If he gives in to the fantasy now, he’ll lose all chance of getting back home at all. He’ll stay here, wrapped in dreams, until his armor wears off and the spores finally take him. He finds the room on this replica of  _ Discovery  _ that would have been their quarters. He huddles behind the half-wall beside their bed, waiting for the ship around him to change shape, or fade away. It doesn’t. He’s trapped. It’s over.

Then Paul starts to speak. They’ve spoken before; words of comfort or some facsimile of a familiar conversation; but this time it’s different. Paul relays a memory. Of course, Hugh remembers their trip to the museum. It was one of many shore leaves he’d enjoyed with Paul; the words are nothing his mind couldn’t conjure up on its own. “And I knew everything about you in that moment.”

Hugh looks up. He never realized before how important, how meaningful that day was to Paul. And now he can hear the love infusing every word. His memories and visions never quite did that justice. “And I’m here now,” Paul continues, “and here’s my hand.” Hugh looks past Paul’s extended hand, and sees his smile, sees the hope in his eyes, hope that Hugh had all but let fade away. 

And that settles it. If he’s this far gone, if his mind can conjure something this real, then he might as well give in. Because what hope does he have of keeping it together until he can escape? And if it truly is real... He holds his breath as he reaches up, and takes Paul’s hand, and Paul is kneeling on the floor beside him, drawing Hugh into his arms. His touch, the physical sensation after so many (months? had to be be months, at least) is almost painful, like jumping into a cold spring on a hot day. And he sits there for a moment, and lets the water flow over him, as he recovers from the temporary shock. Then he reluctantly pulls back, but only so he can look at Paul’s face again, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

They hurry to the engine room as  _ Discovery  _ shudders around them. Clouds of spores are already eating their way through the hull. The barrier between them and normal space cuts through the reaction cube, but as Paul hurries toward it, Hugh hesitates. Can it really be this easy? Paul tells him it’s safe, walks through himself, then puts a hand through the barrier to grasp Hugh’s. This is it; he’s finally going to... 

_ No!  _ As soon as Paul pulls Hugh’s arm through the barrier it’s gone.  _ No. No no no. _ All of it for nothing. He sees the same thought in Paul’s eyes. “I can’t, Paul. I can’t go with you.” Paul argues with the young woman, the... spore creature, he gathers from their conversation. And it all makes sense. This form he’s been given, it’s part of the network. He can’t exist in normal space anymore, and he can’t exist here for much longer. His fate was decided the moment Tyler’s hands grabbed him. He begins to brush the bark from his skin; no sense prolonging the inevitable.

“Paul,” he begins, and Paul turns and stumbles toward him, dazed, lost. “It's done. They can reclaim my matter.”

“What are you doing?” 

“You have to let me go.” Hugh’s heart breaks as he watches Paul shake his head, beyond words but refusing to accept this. He’s ready to stay behind, just like before, Hugh realizes, and once again, Hugh has to send him away. “I can’t be the cause of this.”

“I can’t leave you twice.” Of course not. And how could Hugh even ask him to, if there were any other way. But there isn’t. He has to understand that.

“If you stay, it’ll be twice as deadly for the network.”

Paul smiles hopefully. “We’ll find another way.” And it’s so very Paul that Hugh can’t help but smile back. Of course, Paul would never stop trying to find an answer. If only there were time. If only his last memory didn’t have to be the pain in Paul’s eyes.

“You’re devoted to creation, to life. And there are a million reasons to love you, but that’s mine. Please don’t ruin that for me.”

In the end, he doubts that he actually convinces Paul except for Tilly and Burnham. He’s not sure their plan to send him back through the same conduit Tilly arrived through actually has a chance, but it’s enough for Paul. Hugh only wishes he still had that much faith. Nevertheless, he follows May, the mycelial alien disguised as a young Starfleet officer, off of the ship as it jumps away. 

The spores immediately start to swarm him again as they exit, and though May tries to call them off, it’s not entirely effective. Still, it’s not his physical self going back through, he only needs enough of that to make it into the cocoon. Or maybe his first impression of it will turn out to be correct.. He feels himself dissolving, deteriorating as they draw closer. Finally, he knows he has just one chance, and he leaps toward it...

And May shuts him inside.

Hugh gasps as the cocoon melts away and the cool air hits his bare skin. For a moment he can’t see at all, then his eyes uncloud and he’s lying in  _ Discovery’s  _ engine room. He remembers the last time he was here. Paul walked in, and kissed him, and walked into the reaction cube, and it was the last time Hugh saw him alive and whole and in this universe. 

Until now. Hugh feels arms wrapping around him, and looks up. “Paul?” Paul nods, and smiles, and pulls him even closer, and he wonders if it can truly be like it was before.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

The first day or so is a blur. He remembers waking up on the floor of engineering, drifting in and out of consciousness as Tracy runs a myriad of scans and tests, occasionally answering questions, though he can’t remember what was asked or what he said, and finally the slow drift back to full awareness.

Commander Saru is the first person he sees outside of medical staff, and Tracy calls Paul to sickbay soon after, without asking if Hugh wants to see him. He  _ should  _ want to see him, he knows, but Hugh isn’t sure he wants anything right now, except... his brain can’t finish the thought. He was in pure survival mode for so long, maybe he’s just not ready to see past that.

He listens to Tracy explain his test results to Paul, taking in what she’s saying, though he feels like she’s talking about someone else. He runs a hand up his arm toward the shoulder, trying to make sure he’s really there, and that’s when he notices the scar is gone.

“The scar he chose to keep. You never told her the story?”

He shakes his head as he rubs the spot, He remembers how he got that scar, but it doesn’t feel like something that happened to him. It really is just a story. The story he told Paul; the one Paul is trying to tell now.

_ “Don’t get me wrong, when I was a kid, you could barely keep me inside. Total adrenaline junkie, too.” _

_ “You?” _

_ “I know, right. Anyway, I gave my parents enough heart attacks with what I got up to around our neighborhood, but when I got to be a teenager I started sneaking off on little expeditions. You ever heard of Cabo Rojo?” _

“He was hiking the cliffs of Cabo Rojo, alone.”

_ “I wasn’t exactly the smartest kid.” _

_ “At that age, who is?” _

“I was 16.”

“And apparently indestructible.”

_ “So the path I was on had clearly seen better days. It just crumbled; gave out under my feet. I fell, like, 30 meters.” _

_ “What? How did you survive that?” _

“Fifteen, actually.”

_ “Okay, more like fifteen. But I’m trying to impress you here.” He winked. “Anyway, I almost didn’t. In addition to breaking a clavicle and several ribs, I managed to land in just the right spot to puncture an arter _ y _ in my shoulder.” _

“He would’ve bled out, too, if it weren’t for a certain Dr. Kashkooli...”

_ “She tried to call in a transport to the hospital, but there was some kind of atmospheric interference that day, they couldn’t get a lock.” _

“She risked her own life to climb down and help him. She stitched his wound up with fishing line.”

_ “Hurt like crazy. But she was such a badass that... okay, I know it sounds cliche, but that's kind of what inspired me to become a doctor. I even kept the scar. You know, as kind of a souvenir.” Hugh slipped off his jacket to show Paul.  _

_ “Mmm. That’s a good souvenir. Sexy.”  _

“... and become the man he is today.”

Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. This body he’s inhabiting now, it never fell off that cliff to be subjected to emergency trailside surgery. Never pulled an all-nighter at the academy before a big exam. Never felt his mother’s arms around him the last time he got dumped, while he asked her how she made it work with Dad in the fleet. Never made love to the man standing before him, with a smile affixed to his face as if everything was right in the world, because in his world, it was. 

_ “Nice to see you without the jacket. I was starting to thing Starfleet mandated it 24/7.” _

_ “You always call me the second I get off shift. If you’d give me time to change...” _

_ “I don’t mind if you undress in front of me.” _

_ “Well, in that case, wait until we’re in New York next month. _

Hugh's eyes drift upwards to the bright lights of the medbay. He feels exposed, almost naked. He’s hot, but asks for a blanket anyway. Asks Dr. Pollard to put up a privacy screen. Can’t quite find a way to ask Paul to go home, so he lies down, sweating under the blanket, and pretends to sleep, until Paul is convinced enough to leave on his own.

* * *

 

He spends a few more days in sickbay, making sure his body knows how to do the things it needs to. He can eat and drink on his own, now, and mostly keep his balance when he’s walking. Tracy says they should be able to discharge him soon

“Dr. Culber?” It’s his professional title, but it doesn’t sound quite right in his ears. The man who said it settles on a stool beside the bed and extends his hand. “I’m Captain Pike.”

“Hello, Captain.” He shakes Pike’s hand. “Call me Hugh.” His first name sounds only slightly better.

“All right, Hugh.” He shrugs. “Well, I’ve certainly heard a lot about you, and I’m happy to have you back with us.” Pike smiles half-heartedly, a man trying to make sense of a situation beyond his comprehension. “Not nearly as happy as your husband, of course.”

What? Does he mean Paul? “He’s not my husband.”

“No? He was your next of kin.”

“We had all that covered legally. But we weren’t married.”

_ “Oh, I got the pictures from Luc _ _ ía’s wedding!” Hugh exclaimed as he checked his messages over breakfast. _

_ “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there. If you were still on the starbase you probably could have gotten the leave.” _

_ “But then I wouldn’t be here with you. Besides, I’d want to have you there with me.” _

_ “Still, she’s your sister.” _

_ Hugh nodded. “And I do wish I could have been there. But you’re important to me, too.” He scrolled through the photos. “This could be us someday.” _

_ “Maybe someday.” Paul ran a thumb over Hugh’s cheekbone. “This right here is everything I need.” _

“Well, that certainly sounds married to me. Although I have been accused of being old-fashioned.” Pike shifts on the stool. 

Hugh has already had to deal with Tracy’s careful professionalism, Saru’s awkward curiosity, and of course, Paul’s oblivious euphoria, and that’s been bad enough. But now, even this man he’s never met isn’t quite sure what to make of him. “Did you need something? Captain.”

He nods. “There is something I need to address with you. That you should know before you’re released. Commander Stamets may have mentioned it...” Hugh doesn’t respond. Paul hasn’t mentioned much of anything since his return except how wonderful things were going to be now. Certainly nothing useful. “Ash Tyler is aboard Discovery.” Hugh only nods. “I don’t know how much you were told?”

Told? Nothing. He remembers the results from his examination of Tyler, before Tyler murdered him. His suspicions that Ash Tyler had been a Klingon, altered to look and sound like the captured officer. The unfortunate confirmation of those suspicions. “I know enough.”

“It is Starfleet’s opinion that the Klingon Voq’s personality is no longer influencing Tyler, and he’s been re-assigned here as a liaison to Section 31.” He leans a little closer. “I was opposed to it from the start; despite the medical explanations and reassurances, having him here, around the people affected by what he did... Anyway, having you back on board changes the calculation, and I’ve already sent a message to Admiral Cornwell about the situation. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Hugh nods. “Okay.” He wants to tell the captain not to bother, that he’s not even sure he’ll be staying on  _ Discovery _ , but he doesn’t have the energy right now.

Pike leans backward, glancing at Hugh from the corner of his eye. “That’s it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it. About anything, really.” His hands fidget with the sheet underneath him. He’s not sure why he said all that; barely even conscious of the words as he spoke them.

“I can’t begin to imagine what that’s like. Still, you should be able to go home soon. Maybe you can start to put things back together from there.”

Home. What did that even mean? Right. “Home. With Paul.” Pike smiles, and stands, and walks away. Why would those quarters mean anything to him. He’s been in sickbay for three days, and this is as much his space as anywhere on the ship. At least when he doesn’t have Paul hovering over him in a way he never would have done before Hugh died.

And it’s all he can think of later, as Paul walks him back to those quarters, talking about the leave he managed to save up in all those months when he was barely home, bringing back dinner as if it were routine. He knows why Paul’s doing it, the regret, the realization that he took Hugh for granted up until he’d died. But he’s not willing to admit it.

“Why are you so angry at me?”

“That’s a very good question.” He’s not, Hugh realizes. Or at least, he doesn’t want to be. He’s not ready to give up the anger, though. It’s not a great feeling, but it’s better than staring at the wall, fingers twisted in the sheets, numb. In the end, though, even the anger is only a temporary high. As he grapples with Tyler in the mess hall, eye to eye with the man who took his life from him, the rage washes away, leaving him slumped in a chair along the wall with nothing but a bruised hand to remind him what just happened.

He knows that Paul’s trying, but how can he understand what Hugh’s going through? How can anyone? He thinks of being back in those quarters, among that life that’s supposed to be his, beside the man he’s supposed to love, and he just  _ can’t.  _ “That version of me, that called your quarters home... That version of me is dead. And I’m not going back.”

He barely even feels Paul’s hand on his knee, barely notices the quiver in Paul’s lip as he asks, “Is it because you don’t want to, or... or because you don’t know how...”

How can he respond to that when he doesn’t know the answer himself? “What difference does it make? Would you please just move forward, and let me do the same?”

And with little more than, “Okay,” Paul is gone.

* * *

 

He wakes in his new quarters. They’re as foreign to him as Paul’s, but at least he’s not pretending to be someone he’s not. He rubs a thumb across the knuckles of his left hand; still a bit bruised but the pain is mostly gone. He rolls over, thinks about getting out of bed, but what would be the point? “Computer, play...”

_ “Kasseelian opera. The aria he loves, the one I hate.” _

“Music. I don’t care what.” An Andorian pop song begins pumping through the speakers, one he hasn’t heard before, maybe one that became popular after he died. He lies there, letting the Federation’s top hits pour over him. 

He can’t stay in bed forever, though. By midday he’s starting to get hungry, and as he finally sits up, his muscles protest from lying in bed for so long. So, food, a little exercise, then... he shrugs. His clothes, everything is still at Paul’s. “Computer, locate Paul Stamets.”

_ “Commander Stamets is in starboard engineering.” _

He slips into the empty quarters, unsurprised that the locks haven’t been changed. He grabs a tank, sweats, and shoes from the drawer where they’ve laid folded for months, and probably in need of airing out. He returns to his own room to change, then grabs a bite from the mess hall. “Banana. Toast. Oran... no, coffee. With milk.” Not his typical breakfast, but it’s simple. He doesn’t have to think. 

He finishes the food and sips the coffee, hoping the stimulant might give some type of shock to his system.

_ Hugh stirred the milk into his coffee as Paul sipped from his pitch black mug. “I don’t know how you drink it like that.” _

_ “You mean, the way nature intended?” Paul smirked as he entered the frequently rehashed argument.  _

_ “Cafe con leche is a traditional beverage. And one you can savor instead of chasing caffeine with more caffeine.” _

_ “You make it sound like that’s not the point. Besides, this is nothing. You should see Tilly on an espresso high.” _

_ “And you’re okay with that?” _

_ “I’m her CO, not her father.” _

_ “That so? You wouldn’t know it from the way you talk about her.” _

He drains the mug as soon as the coffee is cool enough, then makes his way to the gym. He considers heading toward the weights, but he’s not sure he can trust himself under the bar without a spotter yet. He sees Rhys and Airiam practicing their sparring in the corner. Punching something seemed to help yesterday; maybe that’s the right idea. He lines up next to one of the bags set up along the walls and sets to work, hitting it with enough force to make his left hand start to sting again. He follows with the right, and continues methodically, left, right, left, right, feeling each impact travel up the nerves in his arm. Harder.  _ Harder. _

Until he tries to go in and something is holding him back. “Doctor Culber.” Airiam is clutching his fist.

Rhys forces him onto a nearby bench. “Hugh, you’re bleeding.” Hugh examines his knuckles to see the blood escaping from a number of scratches. It should be painful, but whatever pain there is isn’t enough to pierce the cloud around his brain. “You should go to sickbay.”

“I don’t need sickbay. I need to keep going. I need  _ something _ to get through."

“Should I call Commander Stamets?” Airiam’s talking to Rhys, but Hugh’s the one who answers.

“No.” All things considered, he’ll take Tracy’s fussing over that look in Paul’s eyes, knowing that he’s the reason for it. “I’ll go to sickbay.”

He expects one or both of them to try to walk him there, but he’s alone once he exits the gym. He could just go back to his room, hide in bed again, but he said he’d go to sickbay, so he does. “Hugh?” Tracy looks up as he enters. He doesn’t respond, just presents his injured hands. She runs a tricorder over them to make sure there’s no bone or tissue damage, then grabs a dermal regenerator. “You didn’t get in another fight, did you?”   


He shakes his head. “Not quite. Just a run-in with a punching bag.”

“Hard enough to draw blood.” She stops and looks at him, and in that moment when she’d normally say ‘It must have really put up a fight’, and maybe call him an idiot, all she has to say is “Why?”

“I had to feel  _ something.  _ It’s all so numb. Everything feels unfamiliar... not just that. Wrong. And I don’t know how it gets better.” 

“Your nervous system needs to recreate those connections. and that means doing the things that used to come naturally. Reacclimate yourself to them.”

“I know what I need to do. I just don’t know how to want to.”

“You really need to talk to someone. Professionally, at least once we have access to Federation resources again. But until then, if you need a friend,” she shrugs.

He leaves sickbay without comment, still not sure if there’s anything that can fix him. But just in case, he stops by the mess hall on the way back to his quarters for asopao and a side of tostones.

He falls asleep on the couch, watching what used to be one of his favorite films, dutifully doing his homework for Dr. Pollard since he has nothing better to do. When he wakes it’s past dinner time and he realizes he still has none of his personal belongings. “Computer, locate Paul Stamets.”

_ “Commander Stamets is in Starboard Engineering.” _

Working late, unsurprisingly. At least now it gives him time to collect his things. He walks past most of the knick knacks and decorative items; none of them mean anything to him now. He spots the service medal that was awarded to him posthumously after the war, though he wasn’t sure what it was meant to be for. All he’d done was get himself killed, and nearly gotten the rest of them killed thanks to his carelessness. Still, he figures it’s the sort of thing he’s supposed to want, so he places it in the box.

He turns to the closet, to the row of white medical uniforms still lined up beside Paul’s blue ones. He doesn’t need them right now. He’s got a couple of civilian outfits that he tosses in, along with pajamas and the rest of his workout clothes. Paul really hasn’t touched any of it. He grabs his shoes from the bottom shelf and adds them to the box, then heads back out the door just as Paul is on his way in.

“Hugh.” Paul looks from Hugh’s eyes to the box in his hands. “This is for real, then.”

“I don’t know why it wouldn’t be.”

“I guess I hoped, maybe, after you had a chance to sleep on it...”

“Paul, we were never going to be able to just pick up where we left off. I can’t be what you need. Why bother pretending?”

“I love you.” A sob escapes Paul’s lips. “And whatever you’re going through, I want to help.”

“You can’t fix this, Paul.” He turns and heads down the corridor.

Back in his quarters, Hugh drops the box on the floor and crawls into bed without bothering to unpack anything. He thinks about that stupid medal, the medical whites hanging in Paul’s closet, Paul’s face when they spoke in the mess hall yesterday, and again this evening. He can’t love Paul the way he needs, he’s not sure he can go back to the job he trained for years for. What’s he even doing here?

It’s past noon again when he’s awakened by the door chime. Not so much awakened as just aroused, though he’s been doing his best to avoid consciousness. He ignores it, and a minute later the door slides open on its own.

“Get up.” Tracy Pollard’s voice is more authoritative than he’s ever heard in sickbay. She’s carrying a tray of food and has a medical kit over her shoulder. “Eat.” She sets the tray down.

He looks at it to see asopao and tostones, same as he ordered yesterday. “Wha-? Why?” 

“I’ve had the computer monitoring your vitals since you left sickbay. The way you were talking yesterday worried me, and I do  _ not _ scare easily. Noticing you’d been asleep for 12 straight hours didn’t help. Ensign Tilly was able to trace your last food order for me.”

“And I guess you’re not going anywhere until I eat it?”

She nods. “It’s also programmed to dispense daily for your lunch. I’m open to suggestions for breakfast and dinner, and I can set an alarm for all three if you like. I’ve asked Commander Healy to meet you in the gym at 1600 every afternoon. And I’d like to give you this.” She pulls a hypospray out of her bag.

He swallowed his mouthful of stew. It was a lot to take in. But unlike trying to eat dinner with Paul, there was no obligation to be someone, to  _ feel  _ a certain way. These are just tasks. It’s professional. He can do this. Except... “What’s in the hypo?”

“It’s an antidepressant. Your situation may be unprecedented, but your symptoms aren’t; I just wish I’d noticed it before I released you. It’s not going to put everything back the way it was, but it might help with some of the connections, help you feel something again.”

Feel something. Something other than lost, broken, and numb. “Please.”

* * *

 

Several days later, as  _ Discovery  _ twists and turns through space, trying to dodge its way through an improbable minefield, Hugh walks into a sickbay already crowded with injuries.

“Sorry, Hugh, but if it’s not serious you’ll have to wait a bit,” Tracy calls as she stitches a wound. “We’re a little busy here.”

“That’s actually why I’m here. I was thinking you might need a hand.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on season 2 episodes 6 and 8, so this one does get pretty dark, but there is a light at the end.


	3. Chapter 3

“...That the paths of trillions of particles had been forever changed, simply because she and her husband smiled at each other.”

Hugh swallows as he recalls the look on Paul’s face as he eulogized Airiam. Ever the romantic, when he had a mind to be. It’s been two weeks since Hugh was released from sickbay, since he moved out of what had once been their quarters, and while he’s starting to feel human again, he’s yet to feel like himself, like he truly  _ belongs  _ somewhere.

Paul and Airiam hadn’t been particularly  _ close,  _ but they’d worked together extensively with the spore drive, and with everything Paul had gone through in recent months, Hugh couldn’t blame him for taking her death pretty hard. Part of Hugh wanted to reach out, to comfort him as he had before, in his other life, but what if it wasn’t enough? And what if that thread of hope was what broke him?

Still, he remembers the way they last spoke, the things he said, and maybe he can at least apologize for that, when he goes to express his condolences. He’s about to put his jacket back on to go do just that when the door chime rings. He opens it to see Captain Pike on the other side. 

“Can I help you?”

“Dr. Culber, hello. Mind if I step inside? I won’t be long.” Hugh nods and steps back to let Pike enter. “There’s a little something we’re investigating, and we could use a trained pair of eyes. Dr. Pollard tells me you’re specialized in neurology?” 

He nods again. “I can take a look. What exactly do you need?”

“Follow me.”

In sickbay, Michael is seated on a biobed, Lieutenant Spock and Admiral Cornwell standing nearby. “Okay, what are we looking for?”

“How much do you know? About the signals?” Cornwell asks.

“I know that we’ve been following them as they appear. Or at least, that was Discovery’s mission, until... all this...” A lot has happened since his return, he knows, and it’s hard to pin down what is significant. “And there’s a being that seems tied to them, that’s been appearing in the vicinity of most of them, like...”

“The red angel,” Pike finishes. “As far as we can tell, it’s a human in some kind of environmental suit. We recovered data from Airiam. Including a bio-neural signature from the red angel, which appears to be a match for Commander Burnham.”

“And you’re wanting me to confirm that.” He instructs Michael to lie down, and begins the scan, trying not to think about the time he had Paul lying on this same bed, undergoing the same sorts of tests. It’s not the same, regardless of what associations his own brain is trying to re-form. The rest of it though, the knowledge, the skills he had before, are still there, even for something as specialized as this. And the data matches, not in the too-perfect way it might if Control were trying to feed them false information; no, somehow, the red angel  _ Discovery  _ has been encountering is Michael Burnham.

Spock seems to have the best grasp of why that might be. Their banter reminds him... no, not so much of his own family. Not that they’re not close, of course; he loves his sisters, but they never had quite that kind of playful relationship. No, it reminds him more of Paul and Brie.

And why is he thinking of Paul again? He needs to go see him, make his apologies, let things lie a little better between them, and then... Maybe he can find somewhere else to be. Somewhere that he won’t be in Paul’s space, reminding them both of what they had. Not now, though, he realizes. He needs to clear his head a little, organize his thoughts. He heads toward the gym. A workout, then a shower, and then he can go see Paul.

He doesn’t bother asking the computer where Paul is, and heads straight to main engineering once he’s dressed. He pauses when he comes through the door, however. He’s not necessarily expecting Paul to be alone, but figures Tilly, or whoever he might be working with, would be easy enough to dispatch for a few minutes. He’s not expecting the former Terran Emperor to be joining them, however. 

Between his presence on Discovery when they jumped to the mirror universe, and the clearance he'd had before his death, he knows who she is, and has no illusions about being able to get Paul alone to talk now. In fact, he’s not expecting her to take any interest in him at all, much less... them.

Though as voyeuristic as that interest seems, he doesn’t have time to feel disturbed on his own behalf as he watches her round on Paul, creeping closer to him, seductively. Anyone within a hundred meters would be able to sense Paul’s discomfort, and that would be enough to get most people to back off. Georgiou isn’t most people, though, and Paul’s reaction isn’t exactly typical either. He’s shut down unwanted advances before.. 

Never in a work context, though, nor from someone with the forceful personality of a Terran. Hugh can’t bear to watch it anymore. “You... do know he’s gay, right?”

Okay, maybe not the most forceful thing he could have said, but it’s enough to draw Georgiou’s attention away from Paul. Still not enough to convince her that attention is unwanted, however. “In my universe he was pansexual. And we had DEFCON level fun together.” Now her face is centimeters from his own, her expression making his skin crawl. “And you, too, Papi.”

She didn’t. He wouldn’t have... “Did you just call me Papi?

This time it’s Paul rescuing him. “Well in this universe, or any other universe I can imagine, I’m gay.” And now he sounds much more like the Paul he’s used to. “And so is he.” Hugh realizes he really has no way to gauge what his Terran self would or wouldn’t have done; he’s had neither the inclination nor the opportunity before now to wonder what that man may have been like. What might he do to stay alive, to accomplish his goals, whatever they might be? He decides he’d just as soon not know, not wonder that about himself or Paul.

“What just happened?” exclaims Tilly, once Georgiou has left the room. “Do you think...”

“I think she was just toying with us.” From what little he knows of the Terran Empire, it’s not a place where one can really know another’s true self. “I’m sure it never happened.” At least that’s what he’s going to convince himself is true.

“Was there... anything else you needed?” ventures Paul. 

There was, but now he’s wound even tighter than he was after examining Burnham. He falls back on the bluff he’d attempted when he’d arrived. “No, I’m just going to, ah, go find the Admiral.” Which he realizes might not be a bad idea. The meds Pollard gave him have helped, but Discovery staying out of contact with Starfleet for the past two weeks has also kept him out of touch with Starfleet’s remote therapy services.

He tracks down the office that Admiral Cornwell has been using since coming aboard. She manages to hone in quickly on the core of what he’s feeling, but soon ends up tying things back to Paul, as the person who knew him best. He knows what she’s saying makes sense, that to feel at home again he needs to connect to the people who know him, who love him, but how can Hugh reach out to him, when all Paul wants is for things to be the way they were. “I can’t give him what he needs.” And he won’t risk giving Paul false hope.

Talking to someone who knows him might not be a bad idea, though. He pulls up the comm system in his quarters, checking the time in Puerto Rico. His parents were notified by Starfleet upon his return, of course, and he wrote them almost immediately afterward, but they still haven’t had a face to face conversation.

It takes a few minutes for him to get an answer; long range communications aren’t ideal in terms of timing. He tries to turn his attention to an article on his PADD while he waits, but he can barely tie meaning to the words as he forces himself to process each one individually, and he can’t actually recall them anyway.

“Sorry, sorry, I was out in the... Hugh?” Her eyes widen and she stops short in the process of removing her gardening gloves.

“Hi, Mama.” He puts a hand to the screen.

“I wondered when you were going to call, mijo. I got the message from Starfleet, of course, and I got your letter, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it. Not until I saw your face.”

“I’m here now. I’m sorry.”

“How? Starfleet didn’t say much.”

“There’s not much you can know. It had to do with Paul’s research, and you know...”

She nods. “I know. How is Paul? Ecstatic, I’m sure.”

It’s part of why he called her, he might as well say it now. “No, he’s not. Because I left; I moved out.”

“What happened?”

“It’s hard to explain. I... I’m not the same person I was before. I don’t know how to feel about him; about anything. He was so happy to have me in his life again, and I ruined it. How can I go back, when I don’t know if I can still be the man who loved him? How can I risk breaking his heart again?”

“You’re allowed to have needs of your own. If he loves you, and I know he does, he’ll give you the chance to try. What does your heart tell you?”

He closes his eyes, leans back in his chair, and listens. “That I need to be honest with him. That’s always what we’ve appreciated in each other. When we lose that, when we try to keep things from each other, avoid our feelings, that’s when it all falls apart.”

“Good. Then you do listen to me sometimes. Now, when can you come home?”

“I don’t know yet. There’s... a lot going on right now. But when I get the chance, I promise it’ll be my first stop.”

* * *

He enters the observation room on Essof IV to see Paul already working on the console inside, calibrating the equipment. He knows it’s probably better to wait; they both have jobs to do right now, but it’s quiet, at least for the moment, and he doesn’t want to lose his nerve. “We didn’t get a chance to talk at Airiam’s funeral. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Paul replies, not because he means it, but because he’s supposed to. He lowers his head, avoiding Hugh’s eyes.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. He was supposed to want to listen. Hugh leans forward. “Paul, I--” 

“This isn’t the time.” He’s right, of course. He shouldn’t have-- “It might not ever be the time,” Paul adds, shaking his head. 

Is that it, then? Has Paul given up so quickly, has Hugh hurt him so badly that they can’t even speak to each other? Or is he just afraid of what he might hear? Hugh nods, almost unconsciously, and steps away to unpack his medical kit.  

The next few minutes are some of the longest in Hugh’s life. In this life, anyway. He remembers seeing Paul in that reaction cube, completing jump after jump around the Klingon ship, while Hugh waited, almost paralyzed, for it to be over. He tries to fight back now as he did then, but though Spock doesn’t have the chain of command on his side, a phaser proves just as effective. 

He glances back at Paul, dispassionately working the controls, monitoring sensor data, atmosphere levels, and remembers his own panic, both at watching Paul in that cube and trying to care for him in his coma. He could have done better, should have done better--all the pain they’ve been through, and it’s his fault.

Paul could always see when he was spiraling. He remembers the way Paul would hold him until he came out of it, even if his mind can’t conjure the feeling of Paul’s arms around him. This time, though, he knows he can’t have that, and it takes the Captain’s voice over the comm to draw him out of himself.

“This operation is over. Away team, get her out of there.”

“We can’t, sir,” he replies. “Lieutenant Spock is holding us hostage. Says we have to let her die.” And even Captain Pike’s intervention fails to change his mind. Spock remains defiant.

Hugh doesn’t need the monitor to recognize the moment Burnham stops breathing. The silence in the room tells him all he needs to know. There still might be a chance to revive her, though; it’s why he’s here. 

“It’s coming!” shouts Spock, as the facility floods with light. He turns to grab the equipment he needs, then watches as the red angel descends, somehow reviving Burnham on its own as it does so. Paul activates the phase discriminators, followed by life support, but warns that it’s still not safe for them to leave the observation room. In the end, Discovery is able to transport Burnham to sickbay before there’s enough atmosphere to allow him to reach her, the rest of them following suit. 

Dr. Pollard is already in the process of stabilizing Burnham by the time he’s able to get to sickbay, and he knows that she’s well able to handle what’s needed, so he joins the debriefing with the Captain and Admiral Cornwell.

“Doctor,” the Admiral approaches him as they leave Pike and Spock alone in the ready room,“Is everything okay? You were a little distracted in there.”

“I’m all right. I guess some things are finally starting to come back to me. I had my first anxiety attack since I’ve been back.” He tries to keep things light, but his heart is still racing.

They step into the turbolift. “So that’s something you’ve dealt with before.”

He nods. “Seeing Commander Burnham down there, suffering, meters away, and I was unable to do anything. It was just like...” Paul. In the chamber. One hundred thirty-three jumps. Why does his mind keep coming back to that? Why does that memory make him feel something when nothing else can?

“I know how difficult that must have been. Were you taking any medication? Before, I mean.”

“As needed.”

“Okay, then I’d recommend you talk to Dr. Pollard about getting that prescribed again. Beyond that, I’d imagine you know your own coping strategies better than anything I could give you.”

“You don’t need to do this.” She was an Admiral; she had more important things to be dealing with. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We’re all in this together. We have to depend on each other, in whatever form that takes. And with that in mind, I do have one thing I need to talk to you about; I think it’s time for you to be formally reinstated. Assuming you feel you’re ready?” She removes an insignia from her pocket and holds it out to him. Silver, with a medical cross and Lieutenant Commander’s pips.

He closes his hand around it. He knows he needs to hold onto those things that were once familiar. Maybe this is one of them.

  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Hugh glances around the empty sickbay for the last time. The rest of his team have packed up as much equipment as it makes sense to carry; he’s just giving it one final check to make sure there’s nothing left behind they might want.

He should be feeling something, leaving this ship forever, this place that was once his home. His eyes linger on the bio-bed against the far wall, and the memories flow through him: Paul, his face bloodied, defiant as Lorca berated him; Commander Landry, her body ripped apart, lying here only seconds before she died; Paul again, comatose, with unseeing eyes, then Tyler.... No, even if they were more than just memories, there’s nothing for him to regret leaving behind.

In his quarters, of course, there’s even less for him to be attached to. It’s only been a month since he moved in there, and efforts to make it his own space have proven futile so far. He’s mainly only used the room to sleep and shower; unpacking only necessities.

He begins sorting through the items remaining in the crate he moved out of Paul’s quarters, discarding on the bed anything he can live without. A pin shaped like a lily, a favor from his sister’s wedding, bag. Some shells from the beach near his parents’ house, bed. That beach wasn’t going anywhere. A signed program from one of the first operas he’d attended, when he was still at the academy... _“I know you say you hate it, and you only do it for me, but I do love it when you only do things for me.”_ Bed. The handcrafted vase he’d found several years ago on Harrakis V... _“Happy Anniversary, Hugh.” “I, ah, I brought flowers.” “They’ll keep."_ Bag. He moves a stack of picture frames to the bed. He had all his photos loaded on his PADD; the frames would just take up space.

He accidentally thumbs on one of the frames as he’s moving them. An image pops up, him and Paul outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Paul, uncharacteristically, had flagged down a passerby to take their picture, and made the most of it, wrapping an arm around Hugh’s waist and planting a kiss on his cheek. “ _I had to run to keep up. And as you walked, you held out your hand behind you, because you knew that I would grab it. And I did. And I knew everything about you in that moment.”_

Paul saved him. Paul loves him. He doesn’t just remember that, he misses it, misses what they used to have: the feel of Paul’s arms, his gentle voice, that soft look on his face in those rare moments when they could escape the world and just be the two of them. And if Commander Reno is right, if Paul still feels the same way... maybe he can have those feelings again. Once they’ve evacuated, once they’re safe on _Enterprise_ , when they have time to talk...  

They don’t have time to talk, though, don’t even have time to get settled before they’re leaving again; essential personnel beginning to beam back to _Discovery_ as soon as they realize they won’t be able to destroy the ship. The rest of the senior staff soon joining them before they jump away. As soon as they leave black alert, Hugh hurries down to engineering. He knows there’s not much time, that there’s so much to do. But they can spare a few minutes, at least. And he might not get another chance.

He’s lucky, he manages to get Paul alone. At least once he’s done berating his team to get to work; which for once Hugh can’t say he minds. Paul slows, nearly freezes, as he spots Hugh.  

“Are you all right?” At the confused look on Paul’s face, he adds, “From the jump.” _He hasn’t had any issues since you’ve been back. Quit stalling._

“I... I’m fine. Thank you.” Paul seems unsure how to react, but the hostility he displayed the last time Hugh approached is gone now.

“Listen,” they both begin, stepping forward.

“You go.” Hugh knows he’s still stalling, but knowing how Paul is feeling, what he wants, will give him a better idea of how to approach things. And if Paul says the right thing, that he’s willing to accept whatever Hugh can give, that he’s willing to wait this out if Hugh’s willing to let him in, then Hugh might not need to say much at all.

“I’m thinking, I might take a break from starships. I passed up a job at the Vulcan Science Academy a few months ago; or maybe I’ll just live on a station for awhile.”

That could work. They could start again how they did before. Maybe with time, and space, he could fall in love again. “Forward motion. I get it.”

“If I can take anything from all this, it’s that forward motion is the most honest choice. For both of us.”

 _Wait. Is he saying... is he ready to move on?_ “Thank you for saying that.” Not that it’s what he wanted. But it works. He knows where Paul’s at. And he hasn’t said anything to make Paul second-guess himself.

“I hope that whatever life you find from here, whoever you find it with, you’re happy, Hugh.”

“You, too, Paul.” That’s not how this was supposed to go. He really is ready to move on, or start to, anyway. Hugh keeps his hands clasped very deliberately in front of him, fighting the urge to grab him, and pull him close, and kiss him; just like Paul had done to him, right in this spot, so many months ago. Right before everything fell apart. But that wouldn’t be helpful; it would just confuse things.

He can stay on _Enterprise_ , he explains to Paul, as if he was already planning this and didn’t just decide on it in this moment. It’s a big crew; he can find friends, find... not a partner, maybe, but someone he can be with for a while, until one or both of them decide to move on. Go back to the life he had before they met. It wasn’t a bad one, after all.

“Of course,” says Paul, before hurrying away, and Hugh can only hope he did the right thing.

He returns to his quarters and opens his bag. He takes out the vase and sets it on the bed, followed by the painting that Paul had gotten him of one of his favorite opera houses and that shirt Paul always loved to see him wear. It was time to truly leave that life behind. With his bag reorganized, he sits on the bed and picks up that photo again, desperately trying to recall the feeling of Paul’s lips pressed against his cheek, the way the breeze lifted his hair, the love shining in his eyes. He stares at it until he hears the announcement that the _Enterprise_ has joined them in orbit, then deposits it on the bed, picks up his bag, and walks away.

“Doctor Culber!” He’s nearly to the shuttle bay when he hears Tilly calling for him. “You’re still leaving?”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Some of the crew... well, a lot of us decided that we can’t just let Michael strand herself 900 years in the future all alone. So we’re going with. Staying on board. And I thought you might... I mean I hoped... Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I get where you’re coming from. But I haven’t even seen my family since I came back, and to be honest, there’s not much for me here, anymore.” As she chews on her lower lip, blinking back tears, he adds. “I know. I wish things had turned out differently, too.”

“I’ll miss you.” She throws her arms around him. “We... all will.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” He steps back and looks at her. “Look out for him, okay?”

Even after she’s gone, he finds himself frozen in place. Where he felt no lingering nostalgia before, no reluctance to leave, it’s almost overpowering now. This ship isn’t home, not really... but it’s where he and Paul made a home together. And now he’s just going to let the man he loves fly off into the future without him?

Because he does love Paul. He always has. He was confused about it for a while, but he was confused about a lot of things. He’s been waiting to feel like himself again, but how could he, when such an important part of his life was still missing?

“I can’t go,” he says to no one, and turns to head back up the corridor.

* * *

 

_Hi Mama,_

_I just wanted to say I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my promise. We have a mission, an important one, and I don’t think we’ll be coming back. I meant to see you again, and I wish I could, but, well, you were right. I need to follow my heart, and my heart is with Paul. Always._

_And whatever they tell you otherwise, I want you to know that I’m safe, or at least believe it. Because I hope we will be, even if I can never see you again. I wish I had time to say more. I want to thank you. For loving me, supporting me, for being my anchor. I wouldn’t be the man I am without you. I’ll miss you every day._  

_Todo mi amor,_

_Su hijo,_

_Hugh_

* * *

 

It seems like only minutes since the battle started, but sickbay is already crammed with patients. Most of the cases aren’t life-threatening, but there are _a lot_ of scrapes and burns and fractures, and he’s spending most of his time walking their handful of volunteers through basic first aid procedures in between the more serious cases, leaving Tracy to handle triage.

“Cracked ribs,” he informs Lieutenant Vancil, “but it looks like he’s breathing okay. You’ll need the bone knitter, over there."

“Hugh! Take bed two!” calls Tracy, and he can hear the edge in her voice.

He turns, smiling as he sees Paul, but that smile falls away as he notices the extent of Paul’s injuries. _Shit!_ Not him, not now, not when they were so close... He catches himself, tucks those thoughts away. Paul needs him to be reassuring, confident. “Paul? Hi.”

“Hugh?” Paul chokes out, barely conscious, as he approaches. “But...”

“I know you’re in a lot of pain.” Paul’s face is covered in scrapes and bruises, but those are superficial compared to the wound in his chest. Whatever caused it has worked its way in deep but didn’t have the decency to stay put, and it’s bleeding freely. He’s probably already in shock. Hugh needs to act quickly. “Your injuries are pretty severe. I’m gonna induce coma.”

Paul groans and shakes his head in protest as Hugh presses the hypo to his neck; the drug will put him under quickly, but until then Hugh needs him to stay calm.  “You’ll be fine. Just listen to my voice. You can hear me.” The ship rocks again as he begins scanning. “I thought I could make my home on _Enterprise_...” Paul protests again. “You’re doing fine. Then I realized, that, uh, you’re my home. So I came back.” Paul’s eyes open at this, affixing themselves to Hugh’s, and in that moment he’s fully conscious and lucid, and Hugh knows that Paul is listening.

He runs a vascular regenerator across Paul’s chest. It’s a stopgap; the blood vessels need further repair, but it’ll keep him from bleeding out. _Right now just get him stable. Smile. Keep talking. Don’t let him see how worried you are._ “Everything, always, came back around to you. I’m just sorry it took me so long to see it. So you go to sleep now, okay? You let me take care of you.” He affixes a monitor to Paul’s neck to track his vital signs. “I’m your family. Wherever we go from here, we go together.”

Paul’s eyes drift closed now, a peaceful smile spreading across his face, and Hugh leans over to press a kiss to his forehead before setting to work. “Barnes! I’ll need an autosuture over here. And grab the O2, just in case, and then we need to get the shirt off and get this cleaned out...”

* * *

 

Tilly bursts through the door of sickbay, then stops short. “Dr. Culber? But you said-- Sorry, Commander Saru asked me to check on things down here, but I think he was just giving me permission, and I thought you were leaving, so I wasn’t expecting... Is he gonna be all right?”

“Yes. With a little time and rest, he’ll be fine.”

“And, are _you_ gonna be okay?”

Hugh smiles at her delicate phrasing. “That might also need a little time, still, but... I think so. How about the ship? Did we make it? Do we know where, or when, we are?”

“They’re still trying to get our bearings, back on the bridge. But wherever we are, we’re safe, and we’re together. That’s the important part, right?”

He takes Paul’s hand and looks down at his softly sleeping face. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the _canon_ portion of this story, however I will be posting an epilogue taking place after Paul wakes up.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hugh?” Paul’s voice, tentative as it is, is enough to cut through Hugh’s sleep. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” he mutters through the fog of sleep as he attempts to straighten up. He hasn’t left sickbay since Paul was brought in, apart from a quick trip back to his quarters for a shower and clean clothes, and since they still haven’t been able to free up any bio-beds since the battle, he had to settle for falling asleep in his desk chair.

Hugh opens his eyes to see Paul’s eyes fluttering from across the room, peering at him through half-closed lids. “Computer, dim lighting for bed two, ten percent.” He walks to the side of the bed, tamping down the urge to take Paul’s hand right away, instead placing one hand on the bed beside him and grabbing a tricorder with the other. Paul’s vitals are looking a lot better, and his blood volume’s back up to normal; the synthesis must have finished while Hugh was asleep. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, still.” He raises a hand to his chest. “And this really hurts.”

“That’s where I had to patch up your insides, so yeah, you’re gonna be pretty sore for awhile.” His voice softens. “I can give you a little something for the pain, but you’ll need to be careful until you’ve had time to heal fully. You don’t wanna tear those sutures.” He lifts a hand toward Paul’s face, then hesitates, for the same reason he’s been keeping the conversation to the practical realities of Paul’s injuries. What if, after everything, he’s wrong, and Paul still doesn’t want him here?

“Hugh? When I got here, when I saw you before, I thought it was a dream. Or a hallucination; my mind trying to comfort me while... And, you said some things, when you saw me.” Hugh nods. “Was that real? Did you mean all that?”

“Every word.” He swallows. “Well, almost. When I said you were gonna be fine, uh, I was going off of hope.”

“You did it, though. You saved my life.”

“Yeah. Guess that makes us even.”

“I should’ve--”

“Not now.” Hugh does rest that hand on Paul’s face now, and lets Paul take his other hand. “We can have that conversation later. When you... we’re back home, when you’re healed, we can get into the should’ves. But I almost lost you, _corazón_ ; we almost lost each other. Right now I just want a little time to be grateful that we didn’t.”

“Okay,” Paul mutters hoarsely. “Any chance I can have something to drink?”

“As long as you think you can keep it down.”

Paul nods. “Maybe some tea?”

“No caffeine, and not too hot, but that should be fine.” He requests a lemon ginger blend from the synthesizer and hands it to Paul, who sips it eagerly. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Kiss me.” At Hugh’s smirk he adds, “Please? It’s been so long.” Hugh takes the mug and sets it on the cart beside the bed, then presses his lips to Paul’s, and for the first time in this body, he truly feels at home.


End file.
